‘’Tis a beautiful song, Sire.’
‘My own,’ answered the King. ‘I never heard it sung better.’
The boy lowered his eyes; there was delight in the gesture. It was as though he feared to gaze at such a dazzling figure.
‘Come,’ said the King, ‘let us sing it together. You take the first verse and I will answer you in the next.’
The boy lost his nervousness when singing, and together they harmonised.
Richard patted the boy’s flaxen curls.
‘Tell me your name,’ he said, ‘that I may ask for you to come and sing to me when I wish it.’
‘I am Blondel de Nesle, Sire,’ answered the boy.
None who had taken part in the march from Acre to Jaffa would ever forget it. The heat was intense, being one hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade; armour became so heated by the sun that it burned the skin and gave additional torture to that suffered by the bites and stings of insects. The men’s dress was most unsuitable. The gambeson, a quilted garment made of linen, and sometimes leather, was padded with wool; over this was worn a hauberk with long sleeves and made of chain mail, attached to which was a hood which could be pulled up to cover the head. Beneath the hood a skull cap of iron was worn for protection and over this was a cone-shaped headpiece covering the wearer’s face with only a slit through which he could see. Beneath the armour was a long linen tunic, and in addition to these garments, the knight had his weapons to contend with. The sword, with its broad blade and square hilt, which was strapped to his side, was heavy; and very often in addition to his sword he would carry an iron hammer.
To march so accoutred added to the soldiers’ discomfort, and the watching Saracens were delighted to see the enemy so burdened that their speedy elimination seemed inevitable. In their own loose flowing robes, and accustomed to the weather as they were, they believed they were much better equipped for victory.
Richard, however, was not known as the greatest living general for nothing. He assessed the situation. His men would be protected in some measure by their heavy clothing and armour and if they marched but two miles a day and rested frequently they could endure the strain. He sent orders to the galleys containing food and other stores to sail along the coast keeping pace with the army. Thus what was needed would always be available during the journey.
No sooner had the march begun than the Saracens started their harassing tactics. To endure the terrific heat, the persistent thirst, the torment imposed on them by the insects would have been unbearable but for the courage of their leader who was always there to spur them on; and his knights seeking to emulate him were of great value to the King.
The Saracens tried to break the line but they could not do so. The fact that the army progressed so slowly enabled them to keep close together; and the constant stream of Saracen arrows, although they found their targets, could not penetrate the mail and many a footsoldier marched along with arrows protruding from him at all angles, giving him the look of a porcupine. These men then became reconciled to their heavy equipment because they realised its life-saving qualities.
By night they camped close to the sea where the galleys carrying food and ammunition were in sight to comfort them.
Richard, knowing that many of them would be thinking of the recent riotous living in Acre and perhaps losing heart because of it, arranged for the heralds to go through the camp shouting ‘Help us, O Holy Sepulchre!’ to remind them that they were on a holy crusade. When they heard the heralds call every man would stand to his feet and raise his hands together and cry to God to help him.
Each day the rising of the sun would remind the men that another day of discomfort and danger lay ahead before that blazing tormenter set again. But with the appeals to God ringing in their ears and the example of Richard and the knights and the belief that what they were doing would win Heaven’s approval, they were ready to march on. It might be, thought Richard, that their recent carousal in Acre would add zest to their days because they were in urgent need of a remission of their sins after the orgies in which they had indulged, so it could be said that the life they had led in Acre was a good thing after all.
There was one knight who won Richard’s special approval. Where the fighting was the fiercest that knight could always be seen; when the enemy circled about Richard he was there beside him and when the affray was beaten off Richard sent for him.
‘I want to thank you for your good work,’ said Richard. ‘I have seen you in action and that has given me comfort. You are an example to the men.’
The knight lifted his headpiece and when Richard recognised that face there was a moment of embarrassment as he recalled that incident of the canes when this man had torn his clothes and he had been unable to beat him.
‘So it is William des Barres,’ said Richard.
‘I fear so, Sire.’
‘Fear nothing,’ cried Richard. ‘But no need to tell you that. I know you fear nothing ... not even the wrath of kings.’
‘I have always kept out of your way, Sire.’
‘Until today. You were close to me then.’
‘I was there as an unknown knight. I did not think you would discover me.’
‘You fight well,’ said Richard, ‘whether it be with sword or canes. Let me see more of your skill.’
Then he laughed aloud. He was pleased. The affair of the canes had always made him feel ashamed when he recalled it.
‘Let us bury our quarrel by becoming the best of friends,’ said Richard.
At Arsouf a battle took place. The crusaders were greatly outnumbered, there being but one hundred thousand of them to three times that number of Saracens. The fighting was fierce and at first it seemed that the victory would go to Saladin; but the crusaders stood so firm that it was not possible for the Saracens to break their ranks. The lightly clad Saracens were very vulnerable to the crusaders’ arrows whereas the heavy crusader armour continued to save Christian lives.
Saladin in the thick of the fight was amazed at the skill of the crusaders, while at the same time Richard could not help but marvel at the bravery of the Moslems.
Richard thought: We should not be fighting against each other, and wondered if that same thought might be in Saladin’s mind.
He hoped that Saladin was understanding why he had had the prisoners slaughtered. A promise had been broken and this must be avenged. He believed now that had he waited Saladin would have sent the ransom and he had encountered nothing but a little oriental prevarication. His impatience had cost so many lives that he was horrified to consider this.
But Saladin must understand that when a great king gave his word that he would do something, he must do it.
The fact was that however much respect the leaders had for each other this was war.
By sunset Saladin conceded victory to Richard and he retired leaving the town of Arsouf in Richard’s possession. It was a Saturday and Richard said they should spend the whole of Sunday resting there.
There was mourning in the Saracen camps when their losses were counted. Some seven thousand Saracens had fallen in the battle while the Christian losses were comparatively slight.
Saladin, retiring to the woods, went about his camps to comfort his soldiers. The humble ones had fought well and valiantly; it was the Emirs, the leaders, who had been no match for the Christians.
Saladin sent for his brother and his son and asked why they had failed.
‘It is Richard,’ answered Malek Adel. ‘There is something unnatural about him. He is there in the thick of the battle one moment, and then, where there is a weakness and we are about to break through, he suddenly appears. His men who are on the point of surrender fight like lions when he is seen to be there. He shouts to them abuse and encouragement and it is as though he gives them special powers. If he had gone home instead of the King of France we should have driven them into the sea by now. No one can stand against him.’